Safe
by Sita Z
Summary: The need to feel safe. Warning: Slash, TripMalcolm.


This small plot bunny was sniffing around in my mind, and as usual I couldn't resist. Thanks to Gabi and Romanse for betaing!

Please note that this is SLASH, and if that's not your cup of tea, you might not want to continue ;).

* * *

"No."

His back is turned to me, and I know that he considers the subject closed.

"Malcolm, listen..."

"Trip, in case you haven't noticed, it's rather late and I'm tired. I'd like to sleep now, if you don't mind."

He uses his "snarky" voice, which sounds bristly and petulant, and I'd almost believe it if it weren't for the slight hitch in his tone. I prop myself up on my elbow and look down at his face, which he has turned away as far as he can.

"Malcolm."

This time, he turns around, suddenly angry. "Will you bloody well let it go, Trip?"

"No."

He looks furious, but I'm not backing off. Not this time. "Malcolm, I wanna know why this keeps happening. We've gotta talk about it."

I want to pull him close right then and there, but I know that it wouldn't be welcome; not now. He's angry, and I know that he's very close to flinging the covers aside and leaving. He's done it before.

"And I keep telling you there is nothing to discuss."

_Bullshit_. I want to say it, but I don't. I know that flippancy doesn't work with him; if anything, he'll throw the words right back into my face. "I think there is, Malcolm. And I think it's important that we talk about it."

"As I said, there's nothing to talk about." His back is facing me again. "If you don't have any objections, I'd like to catch at least a few hours of sleep before I have to get up for my shift."

His voice is very tight, very controlled.

"You thought I was gonna hit you, didn't you."

He is silent for a moment, and I can almost feel the muscles in his back going rigid. Then, softly, "I don't know what you're talking about."

We had a fight; nothing serious, the usual spat that's bound to happen when people live in close quarters and have little but their daily routine to talk about. He was giving me hell about the power shortage again, and I reached out to grab a padd from a shelf to do the calculations right in front of his eyes. He flinched. I could see it in his eyes, there, just for a moment; the certainty that he was about to be slapped across the face.

And it wasn't the first time, either.

"Why would you think I'd wanna hurt you, Malcolm?"

There is no answer. I lay a hand on his arm and feel a very slight tremor running through his body, but he doesn't push me away. He allows me to turn him around, and even though the lights are adjusted to their lowest setting I can still see the wetness in his eyes. I've never seen him cry before.

"Aw, Malcolm."

I wrap my arms around him and he struggles a little, but I refuse to let him go. He doesn't let the tears fall; he'd never do that. Reeds don't cry, men don't cry, conduct unbecoming an officer, inappropriate display of weakness; all of that is too firmly rooted in his mind for him to let himself go. But he lets me pull his face against my chest and doesn't move away when I begin to stroke his hair.

"I love you," I tell him. "I wish you'd believe that."

He says nothing for a long time. Then, very quietly, "I do believe it."

"I could never hurt you, Malcolm." He doesn't reply, and I think I'm beginning to understand. I'm not sure I want to, but I do. "It doesn't have to be that way."

He is silent again, and when he finally speaks his voice is so soft that I have to strain my ears to hear it at all. "It used to make me feel safe, you know."

It's all he says and I don't ask him to explain. Maybe I'm a coward, but I don't want to hear just what they did to make him feel safe, make him feel, not loved, but assured of their continued attention.

"There are other ways of feelin' safe," I say, and what I don't say is that I'd like to hunt down every person who ever hurt the man I love and kill them as slowly and painfully as possible.

I feel his arms slip around my waist. "I know."

I tighten my arms around him and bury my face in his hair. It isn't often that he lets himself be held like this; giving up control, lowering his well-kept and tightly reinforced defenses.

"I love you," I tell him again, and he nods against my chest.

I hold on to him as we both fall asleep.

* * *

Please let me know what you think!


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